


a gift to the world

by Ariette (Capriccioso)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Asexual Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel (Supernatural), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 21:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capriccioso/pseuds/Ariette
Summary: Castiel has found that too much curiosity ruins your life which is why he doesn't ask enough questions when a pretty green-eyed man breaks into his brother's café to bleed out all over his floor.Dean might be slightly delirious from blood loss but he thinks telling Cas all about the monsters he hunts is an excellent idea.





	a gift to the world

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is set in a happier universe with no demon interference. Mary lived and so did Samuel and Deanne Campbell. John left them a few years later for Kate Milligan and had Adam. Sam and Dean are both Hunters by choice and enjoy it, so their personalities are less broody than usual. Dean is 27 in this. This will never be finished, I just didn't want it to languish in my drafts forever.

Castiel has been on the opening shift for an entire week now. Even the copious amounts of coffee he consumes can do nothing to chase the tiredness from his eyes. That’s what he gets for playing chore poker against Missouri in the first place; the woman is positively psychic.

Today, he can tell, will not be routine, though - it’s obvious from the broken glass and the foot prints leading deeper into the building. And, look, clearly he should be calling the police. But before Castiel was a sad guy living in a shoebox apartment and working at his brother’s café because nobody will hire him, he was in the military, and he was confident he could handle whatever inept criminal had left a conspicuous trail all the way from the back door to the kitchen.

So Castiel carefully set down his cup of horrible to-go gas station coffee on the floor and crept forward, following the glass shards and blood smears. Whoever it was that had none-too-gently broken open the back door’s lock had been hurt before they’d made it inside. For some reason there was a line of salt in the door way to the kitchen, looking almost neat in stark contrast to the mess the intruder was leaving.

“Goddammit Sammy, I can’t even reach --” 

Castiel heard a gruff male voice say in obvious annoyance. There were no windows in the kitchen and Castiel’s sight hadn’t adjusted to the inky darkness of the interior yet, so he hovered by the door. There was grunting and scraping followed by curses from the inside. Whoever the intruder was, they clearly weren’t going to be doing any escaping, but since they were talking to someone named ‘Sammy’, there might be a second one lying in wait.

Castiel’s eyes adjusted and he looked around for something he could use as a weapon. This was possibly the first time he regretted not having tried harder to keep his gun license. 

“You’re not helping and I’m hanging up,” the voice announced, and Castiel realized with a start of sudden amusement that it was coming from the storage room. The storage room that Missouri heavily booby-trapped because someone was always eating half the ingredients (it was Gabriel and everyone knew it but they couldn’t flat-out tell their boss to stop doing that, so booby traps it was - they only worked as a deterrent about half the time).

Castiel relaxed minutely; there was still a chance that the burglar had a gun or other weapon, but so far they’d only shown signs of being ill-prepared and frighteningly clumsy, and he liked his chances. He snuck forward until he could reach the row of light switches by the door and flipped the one for the storage room.

Gruff cursing echoed from the storage. “Hello?” the voice asked. “Little help here?” Castiel almost snorted, and he generally was not easy to amuse. What kind of burglar actually asks the people they’re robbing for help?

“I’m not armed or anything, just ... just get me out of this weird-ass contraption?” the voice continued.

“That’s exactly the kind of thing an armed person would say,” Castiel couldn’t resist but snipe back. The kitchen counters blocked the view into the storage room from where he was crouching so he had no visual on the intruder, but they couldn’t see him either so it felt like a fair trade-off.

The intruder had a pleasing laugh, and Castiel definitely needed to get out more if he was starting to be attracted to the people breaking and entering his brother’s café.

“Touché, I _am_ armed but it’s rock salt, not buckshot in this baby, and I don’t even plan on shooting anyone. I just ... need help getting out of this hell-trap and then I’ll be on my merry,” the voice (which was also pleasing, damn it) continued.

“I’m calling the police,” Castiel announced.

“Come on, we both know that if you haven’t called them yet you won’t do it at all. Look, dude, I’m bleeding all over your floor. I promise I won’t steal or touch anything or shoot anyone.”

Castiel considered this. The stranger was right, of course, at this point calling the police would only serve to aggravate him. They would be going on and on about safety and rip him a new one for not calling them immediately. Plus, they couldn’t actually do more than he could. So he gave up crouching behind the kitchen counters and stood up. After a moment of letting his eyes adjust to the light coming from the open storage room door he cautiously crept closer.

Just inside, tangled up in one of Missouri’s especially nasty rope traps (which was odd, she only ever used those around Halloween when the back was full of sweets) was a brown-haired extremely aesthetically pleasing (damn it) man. A shotgun rested next to him and he’d drawn a neat circle of salt around himself. His left leg was an absolute mess of blood, and it was only because of the rapidly darkening plaid shirt haphazardly wrapped around it as a make-shift bandage that he had left so little of his blood smeared across the room. He must be in absolute agony and Castiel winced a little in sympathy.

“Hello,” Castiel tried.

The stranger looked up from where he was fiddling with a rope knot and smiled brightly (damn it) up at him. “Hey! Nice to see you decided to join the party. Little help here?”

He made no move toward the shotgun resting by his hip, so Castiel moved to kneel by him. “You should go to the hospital with that,” he observed.

The stranger shot him a dubious look. “For that scratch? Had worse. Dude, watch for the salt lines!” He practically yanked Castiel inside his little circle of salt. “I really, really do not wanna die today,” he muttered.

“Great, I got the inept nutcase burglar. What happened to your leg? I know for a fact we don’t keep bear traps.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Let me guess, a giant killer slug?,” Castiel dead-panned.

The stranger laughed and it only made him more attractive (damn it).

Castiel busied himself with untangling the knots; there was a trick to it Missouri had taught him last Halloween. He made sure to keep his body between the stranger and the shotgun, though. Rock salt wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt and who knew if he’d even told the truth about that.

A moment of silence passed. “I’m Dean, by the way. I keep waiting for you to ask, but uh ...”

Castiel shrugged and unravelled the rope trap. “I didn’t think you’d tell me.” He got up. “I think we have a First Aid kit here somewhere.” He stepped out of the salt circle and turned to the cupboards.

“Don’t you wanna know why I’m here?” Dean asked.

Castiel, who’d been opening drawers in search of the aforementioned First Aid kit turned around to regard him somberly. “I have learned long ago that the easiest way to not be involved in ... unfortunate situations is to avoid asking too many questions.”

“That’s a joke, right? I mean, there’s some random dude with a shotgun full of salt and a chunk of leg missin’ in your kitchen and you don’t even have one tiny little question?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Castiel declared, and wondered why he bothered making the joke. Most people didn’t get his dead-pan humour, and Dean was certainly in no state to appreciate it anyhow. “I’m going to find that kit and bandage you up for now. Then, I will take you to the hospital and never speak or think of this again. Deal?”

Dean looked pale now, freckles standing out clearly against his tan skin. Damn. It. “No hospitals,” he rasped, sounding more like someone who’d lost this much blood should. Apparently, whatever energy the adrenaline had given him was running out, and Castiel sighed.

“You can’t be serious, Dean.”

“No hospitals. It ain’t so bad anyway, just got bitten.”

“Bitten by what?”

“... giant ghost dog?”

“I will need to tell the people in the ER about your head injury then.”

Dean attempted to roll his eyes and promptly fainted.

Castiel sighed.

“I can’t believe you drive a pimp mobile,” was the first thing Dean said when he came to again.

“And I cannot believe that you have the nerve to insult my car while bleeding all over it.”

Dean was laid out in the backseat of Castiel’s Lincoln Continental and no less mouthy than he’d been before.

“So why the hell are you kidnappin’ me?”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Dude, I told you, _no hospitals_.”

“Shall I take you to the vet then?”

“Very funny. Just drop me off at my motel.”

Castiel chanced a glance at Dean over his shoulder. He appeared to be perfectly serious, face pale and hands smeared with blood. When he’d carried Dean to his car he found that the man did indeed have a head injury and probably a concussion as if he’d been flung around some. Dean’s eyelids were drooping, and Castiel didn’t think that falling asleep would be healthy for him.

“I’ll bite. Tell me your story,” he said, hoping to keep Dean awake with conversation.

Dean seemed to contemplate this. “Figured out you’re no cat, eh? Wait, no, don’t answer that, that’s the head injury talking. Guess I do owe you this, since you didn’t get me arrested ... it went like this. Sam, that’s my brother, he found a couple people were dying, y’know getting all chomped up. We come into town, figure that’s our usual gig, werewolf maybe, or rugaru.”

“Loup Garou? Like french for werewolf?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re the type that speaks French?” Dean muttered. “Nah, rugaru are. Well, shit, I guess they’re kinda human-ish. Live pretty normal lives then one day they think ‘how about I take a bite out of my co-worker’ and that’s that.”

“You really believe all of that?,” Castiel asked incredulously.

“’S real,” Dean insisted. “Anyway, wait til you hear what it’s actually.”

“If you believe all of these stories should you be telling me about them?”

“Dude. You think I’m a nutcase anyway.”

“Fair.”

“Yup. ‘cept we hunt this thing and turns out? Giant. Ghost. Dog.”

“I take it that is not a common occurrence?”

“Are you kidding me? I mean wendigo, fine, I’d buy it, maybe even a particularly bite-y vamp, seen weirder. But a ghost dog? A _giant ghost dog_?”

“That seems ... far fetched.”

“Not all dogs go to heaven, apparently.”

“We’re here,” Castiel said unnecessarily, as they parked in front of the hospital.

“Yeah, nice, thanks, buddy. I’ll walk myself to the ER, see ya around.”

“Dean. You told me ‘no hospitals’ thrice, do you really think I will let you out of my sight until you are taken care of?”

But Dean had already somehow clambered out of Castiel’s car, iron determination on his face. Castiel followed after him, exasperated. “Dean,” he began, just when the man in question fainted directly into his arms.

“Man, we gotta stop meetin’ like this, angel,” Dean laughed.

“Oh? And how is it we’re meeting, Hector?” asked Castiel, looking down at him from where he was standing next to the hospital bed.

“With me flat on my back and you lookin’ all smitey. I mean it’s kinda hot but ... wait, what did you call me?”

“Hector. Or is it Mr Aframian?”

Dean blinked, taking in for the first time that he was in a hospital room. “Son of a bitch, I told you no hospitals.”

“You had a mauled leg, a concussion and fainted twice. I couldn’t _not_ take you to the hospital, Hector.”

“Y’know you’re kinda cute when you keep sayin’ ‘Hector’ all accusatory.”

“You’re high on pain killers.”

“True but you’re really cute, angel.”

“I don’t even know why I’m still here.”

“You’re curious, kitty.”

“Stop giving me ridiculous pet names, Hector.”

“My name’s Dean.”

“Your ID says otherwise.”

“’S not my ID.”

“And you just admitted to a crime so I’m morally obligated to report you for identity theft. See, this is why I don’t ask questions!”

Dean looked at him with big green eyes clouded by drugs. “Y’gotta get me outta here, angel, they’re gonna arrest me,” he stage whispered.

“If you plan on telling me you don’t deserve to be arrested please remember back to the circumstances of our first meeting.”

“Shorter words, please, sweetheart.”

Castiel lost patience and left, closing the door in the face of Dean’s protests. He really didn’t know why he’d stayed after the doctors had patched up the worst of Dean’s (Hector’s?) injuries. Curiosity, as Dean had said?

Castiel went to the hospital cafeteria to at least drink that coffee he’d not gotten this morning. He texted Gabriel and Anna to let them know that opening the café today wasn’t a good idea. For one, half the day was already over, for another the mess left behind would take forever to clean up. Castiel groaned when he remembered that Missouri would have come in this morning to find the back door broken and blood smeared all over the place. He went to text her too, to reassure her, but found that she’d already written him not to worry about a thing.

In the cafeteria on the first floor he bought himself a low-fat burger (the only kind they had; it came with a side of sad, wilted salad) and a cup of steaming hot coffee. He regretted the latter the second it crossed his lips; it tasted like burned beans and dirt. He sat down to eat. The cafeteria was relatively empty at this time of day, so he got an entire large table to himself.

Castiel was about half-way through his burger when a conversation between the two men who'd just sat down a table over caught his attention.

“This guy? Total freak,” the younger man, looking like he was barely 20, said. “We got arson, murders - plural - identity theft, the whole nine.”

“And after all that he gets caught because of a dog,” the older man agrees sagely. “Karma, is what it is. Finish your sandwich, he should be awake enough to arrest in an hour.”

 _Curiosity_ , Castiel thought as he made his way back to Dean’s hospital room, _is a terrible thing_. Because Castiel, for his many faults and catastrophic social skills, knows murderers. Knows people who are violent criminals. And so help him, Dean or Hector Aframian or who ever he is, isn’t that.

So while he should do the sensible thing and go home, have a shower and read a good book, what he ends up doing instead is smuggling a barely lucid, drugged up stranger out of a hospital. Castiel has never been accused of making good life choices and it didn’t seem likely to happen in the future.

Dean had said something about a brother and a motel, but Rockford, Illinois had more motels than Castiel could shake his fist at. And in the haste of their covert exit from the hospital he’d had to leave Dean’s belongings and consequently his phone behind, so he had no means of contacting the brother.

Which meant that Castiel now had a wanted criminal who might possibly be slightly insane resting on the lumpy couch in his shoebox apartment. The only logical course of action was to make tea, but that was possibly because Castiel’s answer to everything was to make tea. Even his friend Balthazar made fun of him for that, and he was British.

“Ugh, tea is pr’ty vile, huh?,” Dean slurred, but continued to drink it. Castiel gave no comment, instead opting to study the man before him. Without all the plaid and denim (and the shotgun that Castiel had stashed in his Continental’s trunk), Dean cut a much less imposing figure. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, but even with some nasty scars on display, in the hospital gown he just looked ... tired.

“You should put on some clothes,” Castiel decided. There wasn’t much else he could do until Dean sobered up enough to tell him which motel he was staying at.

Dean said something completely incoherent with deadly seriousness. Castiel sighed, then went to his bedroom to grab clothes to put Dean in. At least Dean managed to dress himself, even though he made several leering comments about being naked in Castiel’s apartment and put the shirt on backwards.

For a moment it looked like this could work out alright; he’d give Dean a few hours to get the pain killers out of his system then drop him off at his motel and never see him again. Cat survives it’s brush with curiosity. Of course, Castiel’s life could never be so easy.

The doorbell rang. Castiel considered ignoring it. "I know you're in there, Cassie!," Gabriel yelled from outside and Castiel grimaced. "Open the door or I'll scream like you're murdering me, brother dearest!" Hastily, Castiel answered the, angling his back to hide Dean’s form on the couch in his tiny apartment; he'd made the mistake of thinking Gabriel was bluffing once before. Only once.

“Hey bucko,” Gabriel greeted easily. “Got your text and went to check it out. Kitchen’s a battle field.”

Dean staggered over and Castiel went stiff when he rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder, his arms wound around Castiel’s waist.

“Babe, who’s this?,” Dean asked, except it came out sounding more like ‘babe cheez-its’ to Castiel’s mortification.

Gabriel stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, Cassie, ‘cheez-its’?,” he asked, amused.

“This is ... Dean.”

“And Dean is ...?,” Gabriel prompted.

Somehow, Castiel had a feeling that ‘the wanted criminal that broke into your café this morning’ wouldn’t go over well. “My ... boyfriend?,” he ventured, hoping it would explain away Dean’s propensity for pet names. And that Dean had just started rubbing his face on Castiel’s shoulder like a cat.

“You’re dating a junkie?,” Gabriel asked, with no trace of his usual good humour. “Dammit Cassie, we had a _talk_ about your drug problem.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, Dean ... hurt his leg. It’s just pain killers.”

Gabriel gave them a long, hard look, then relaxed back into his usual overbearing self. “At least he’s pretty. Cassie, why didn’t you introduce me to him? Were you ever going to share the eye candy, bro?”

Introducing significant others to family is a thing people do, right? “Yes?,” Castiel tried. The look Gabriel gave him made it very clear that he hadn’t improved as a liar since the last time he’d tried, some five years ago.

“Look, Gabriel, I really have to ...,” But Gabriel didn’t get to find out what excuse Castiel was going to end that sentence with, because Dean slurred “Pay attn’tion t’me, angel” and closed the door in Gabriel’s face.

Castiel sighed. He was doing that a lot today. “Alright, come on, let’s get you back to the couch,” he said to Dean who whined and pressed himself into his back. “Dean,” he admonished.

“Yesh, sugar?”

“You’re insufferable.”

Dean woke up with a killer headache and a gnawing pain in his leg. For a moment he blinked into the darkness around him, disoriented, then the memories started trickling back in.

Getting mauled by a ghost dog? Slightly embarrassing. Getting trapped in a freakin’ net like some kinda overgrown fish? Downright shameful. Practically molesting the hot guy who’d helped him out? Positively mortifying.

It seemed to be early morning, just before sunrise. Dean took a look around the cramped living room; Cas owned so many books they were stacked against the bare walls. Aside from that, the place looked orderly. Sure, the furniture was banged up but everything was clean and tidy. Dean would venture that Cas was the type to alphabetically organize take-out menus. It was cute, in an odd way. He found that he wouldn't mind getting to know the guy who lived here closer.

Dean found some post-its and a pen and left his name and phone number. After some consideration he put down Sam’s too; his own was still at the hospital and who knew when or if he could reclaim it.

Dean left the post-it on the kitchen counter, then slipped out the door.

Castiel hadn’t slept. At all.

After he’d persuaded an overly amorous Dean to a nap on his couch, he’d watched his surprise house guest sleep for a few hours and then made dinner for them both.

When Dean didn’t wake up, he ate it alone. Remembering the brother who’d probably come looking for Dean he’d driven down to the hospital one more time (after locking all his most valuable possessions in his bedroom) and asked the hospital staff if anyone had asked after Hector Aframian. They told him an improbably tall man that had claimed to be his brother had come around but not left any contact information when they’d told him Hector was gone.

Castiel stayed and talked to the nurses for longer than he’d meant to. The two officers from yesterday he’d overheard talking in the cafeteria were apparently huge gossips as they’d practically told everyone and their deaf grandma all about Dean and Sam Winchester, criminals extraordinaire.

Even though Castiel was still convinced that Dean wasn’t a cold-blooded killer at least half of the non-violent offences rang true, and he drove slightly over the speed limit all the way home. When he got back it was already late evening, and Dean was still fast asleep. It appeared he’d woken up long enough to break into Castiel’s bedroom and steal his pillows for himself, though.

The lock was scratched but not broken, Dean had probably used one of the many bent and discarded paper clips he’d left about on the floor to crack it. Castiel triple checked but his laptop and all of his first editions were untouched.

Dean was a riddle wrapped up in an enigma, and also drooling on Castiel’s favourite pillow, limbs sprawled and hanging off the edge of the couch.

Castiel tried to fall asleep, but now that his curiosity had been poked it wouldn’t leave him alone, and the knife he kept for self-protection notwithstanding, he was also still nervous. So he contented himself with reading books in his bedroom all night.

Sometime around six in the morning he emerged, hoping to make himself some coffee, to find his living room empty. Curiously, he felt disappointed. Dean had been ... interesting, and Castiel really would have liked to ask him more questions. Especially since he did have niggling doubts that he’d made a mistake by helping a criminal escape.

In his kitchen, he found a single post-it note reading ‘Call me for a good time ;) 1-866-907-3235 or 785-555-0128’

“How strong were those pain killers?” Castiel muttered, slightly worried for Dean’s health.

**(778)237-3022**  
Does showing me a good time include answering questions?

 **Dean**  
jesus cas this is my baby brother’s phone don’t say that

 **Cas**  
Apologies, you didn’t answer the other one.

 **Dean**  
yeah we couldn’t get it back from the hospital the police already took everything

just so you know the thing’s set to wipe

but uh if they already turned it on before you sent me that message you’ll probably get a visit from the feds

sorry?

cas u there?

 **Cas**  
I do still have a day job.

 **Dean**  
hey i have one of those too

 **Cas**  
Somehow, I find that hard to believe.

 **Dean**  
ganking monsters is my day job

oh come on i know you don’t believe me but don’t just ignore me

 **Cas**  
I’m trying to figure out if asking a madman questions is in my own best interest.

 **Dean**  
live a little, Cas

 **Cas**  
How does one get rid of a ghost dog?

 **Dean**  
same way one gets rid of a regular ghost

u burn the sucker’s remains and hope their soul didn’t get attached to something unreasonably huge like a house or a truck

 **Cas**  
Are you telling me you fought a ghost truck?

 **Dean**  
well technically i guess? 

it was the driver’s ghost he just never had the courtesy to actually leave his damn truck

fun times

 **Cas**  
You realize delusions and hallucinations are common symptoms of several mental illnesses?

 **Dean**  
talk dirty to me babe

The feds did show up, two days later.

They asked Castiel disinterested questions about where he’d found Dean and what he’d done and why he’d texted him.

Castiel made up a story about Dean leaving the number written on his mirror because he couldn’t show them the embarrassing post-it, and even though they looked at him sceptically they couldn’t prove it was a lie.

All in all the feds looked around his tiny flat for twenty minutes, fifteen minutes too long to be reasonable, then grudgingly wished him a good day and disappeared.

**Cas**  
You should refrain from texting me all night.

 **Dean**  
hey u’re the one who keeps replying

 **Cas**  
Yes, it seems I lack self-control where you are concerned. Regardless, I was late opening the café again. I am sure Missouri is displeased with me.

 **Dean**  
who’s missouri?

 **Cas**  
A woman I work with.

 **Dean**  
huh, cause i work with a woman called missouri too

would you say yours is ... positively psychic?

 **Cas**  
How did you know that?

 **Dean**  
HA now i know what missouri’s day job is she’s gonna be so mad

thanks cas u’re the best

 **Cas**  
Dean, you’re speaking in riddles.

 **Dean**  
missouri is an actual real-life psychic i’ve worked cases with before

makes great cookies too

Castiel didn’t ask Missouri about Dean.

(He did start thinking about brick walls during poker games with her, though, and he could have sworn she looked amused.)

**Dean**  
did i ever tell u u’re pretty?

 **Cas**  
Yes, several times, but you were high at the time.

 **Dean**  
oh that’s funny ‘cause im high now

 **Cas**  
What happened?

 **Dean**  
broke my

well i dont remember what it’s called but i broke it

 **Cas**  
Are you alright?

 **Dean**  
This is Sam, Dean’s brother. He passed out, but he’s fine.

 **Cas**  
That’s good to hear. Nice to meet you, Sam. I am Castiel.

 **Dean**  
Nice to meet you too. Dean says you work in a café ... ?

 **Cas**  
Yes. It’s not as interesting as scouring the country for monsters I assure you.

 **Dean**  
He told you?

 **Cas**  
Should he not have?

 **Dean**  
No it’s just. A lot of people can take it kind of badly? I didn’t think he was this serious about you, is all.

 **Cas**  
We’re just friends. He happened to tell me all about the monsters when we first met. I think he hit his head pretty hard.

 **Dean**  
Oh. Well, he really likes you now, at least.

 **Cas**  
I like your brother too, Sam.

Dean didn’t get any less confusing.

While his stories were obviously ridiculous, they were also internally consistent in a way that a raving lunatic’s delusions were not. Sometimes, when Dean mentioned specifics, like a state or a bar or a name, he’d get the urge to google it, see if any of the things Dean told him were true, if there really were unsolved murders to be found.

He didn’t, though. Castiel had meant what he had said about curiosity; it had landed him with a dishonourable discharge from the military and a drug addiction; he’ll be damned if he looks too closely at what his new friend is doing only to find out for sure that Dean really is insane.

That’s what they were now, three weeks of tentative texting later. Friends. It was odd in the sense that most of Dean’s stories included beheading things that go bump in the night, but also in the sense that Castiel hadn’t had an actual friend that he’d chosen in ... ever, actually. 

He had Gabriel and Anna, but they were his siblings. Balthazar had just gotten stuck with being his attorney in the drug addiction’s inevitable legal fall-out and had somehow just ... forgotten to leave after it was all over. Alfie hadn’t even really liked him, he’d just been told to be nice to his superior officer. And Missouri was his co-worker; no matter how many times she invited him for dinner, she still couldn’t really be called a friend because it wasn’t like she could tell her bosses’ brother to fuck off.

So Castiel was 32 years old and had just made his first friend. Somebody should throw him a parade.

**Dean**  
my brother wants to install an ipod jack in my baby

 **Cas**  
Infants don’t come with the necessary wiring.

 **Dean**  
did u just make a joke

call the news

but no seriously my baby’s a classic goddammit

what kind of heathen puts an ipod jack in ‘67 impala

its like we’re not even related

like how can i look at him my brother my own flesh and blood

and know this darkness lurks in him

 **Cas**  
Ah, I see you are drunk.

 **Dean**  
how’d u know

 **Cas**  
You always get melodramatic when you’re drunk.

 **Dean**  
ur face is melodramatic

 **Cas**  
Go to bed, Dean.

 **Dean**  
bite me

but like, sexily

not like a vampire that would be gross also i’d have to kill you

 **Cas**  
Goodnight, Dean.

 **Dean**  
night angel

Things were going well for Castiel.

He’d settled back into his bubble of complete indifference without a hitch, and his easy friendship with Dean made him happier than he could remember being in a long time. Of course Dean’s incessant flirting occasionally flustered him, but it wasn’t like Dean could see him blushing.

So he really should have seen it coming when one day Gabriel cornered him in the café at closing and demanded:

“Why haven’t I seen your boyfriend around, Cassie?”

“Who?,” he asked, stupidly.

“Tall, loopy and handsome?”

“Oh. _Oh_. He - he is ... out of town.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow sceptically. “Out of town?”

“Yes ... uh. It’s a long-distance ... thing?” None of that was technically a lie, but Castiel knew he was probably exhibiting signs of at least half of his dozen or so tells.

Gabriel sighed, long-suffering. “Cassie, if you got dumped or hell, if it turned out he was a junkie after all ...”

Castiel raised himself up indignantly. “I did not get dumped, and Dean is a perfectly respectable man.” Well, now that was an objective lie that he’d told convincingly, likely purely out of his subjective regard for Dean.

Gabriel however wore that Cheshire expression that never meant anything good for Castiel, and his stomach sank. “Good, if he’s such a respectable man than I’m sure he’ll want to be there for family dinner on Saturday.”

“I don’t ... huh?,” That hadn’t taken the turn into making fun of him that Castiel had expected.

“Dinner. Saturday. Surely you remember Michael leaving that obnoxious message on my voice mail going all ‘so help me God if you don’t show up I will smite you with righteous fury’?”

“Yes, but I didn’t intend to go.”

“Well, I’m going. Kali hasn’t met the family yet,” Gabriel winked, “and I’d like to see if she runs from the sanctimonious dicks before I put a ring on it. It being my dick.” He snickered, and Castiel sighed. In the years since he’d met and consequently settled down with Kali, Gabriel had mellowed out a lot from the infuriating trickster he used to be, but sometimes he could still act like a child.

“So what does that have to do with me?”

“If I’m going you’re going.”

“But our family ...”

“Hates you. And me. And Anna. Which is why you’re going to bring loverboy as emotional support.”

“But ...”

“No buts, Cassie. What kind of boyfriend, nay, what kind of ‘respectable man’ doesn’t show up at the big, teary family reunion?”

Castiel watched Gabriel walk away whistling merrily, feeling distinctly like he’d been played.

**Cas**  
Do you happen to be anywhere near Illinois?

 **Dean**  
not really

i mean i could be if you’re ready to succumb to my charm

 **Cas**  
Do you remember my brother Gabriel? The one whose face you slammed that door in?

 **Dean**  
gotta be more specific babe i slam a lot of doors

 **Cas**  
I figured.

When you were here last, sleeping off your inebriation on my couch, Gabriel came to visit.

You may possibly have clung to me. There could have been nuzzling.

I told him you were my boyfriend.

There’s a family dinner this Saturday and he is very ... adamant you attend. You don’t have to of course. I understand if you do not want to.

 **Dean**  
you remember the part where you think i’m a nutcase?

 **Cas**  
I think that you genuinely believe in your own words.

 **Dean**  
that’s just a nicer way of calling me a nutcase, cas

but yeah if you don’t mind me being near ur family i can show up

 **Cas**  
Dean, clearly my scepticism has hurt you. I do not think you are insane, per se. I just ... what you’re telling me sounds unlikely, but I like being your friend very much.

I don’t want to think too closely about whether you’re lying or hallucinating or really out there getting almost killed every day. None of those sound like pleasant options.

If I don’t know for certain I can pretend none of them are true.

 **Dean**  
schroedinger’s nutcase

Despite their conversation Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean would actually show up. For one thing they hadn’t arranged any specifics and he doubted Dean would remember where his apartment was from the brief, drugged up hours he’d spent there.

He had Friday off, so he spent it at home trying and failing to read. Every few minutes he’d find himself re-reading the same sentence while surreptitiously glancing at his phone. Honestly, Castiel wasn’t even sure what he hoped for. For Dean to show up and ... what? Take him on a date as his pretend-boyfriend? He never should’ve asked that of Dean; one of the many reasons he and his large religious military family didn’t get along anymore was his sexuality. There were bound to be snide comments.

And what if Dean didn’t show? It would preserve their friendship, surely. It would also embarrass him in front of Gabriel who would no doubt still make him go to the family dinner. Castiel was often the only one who could convince Kali not to murder Gabriel, and his brother was fond of taking him along to events she’d find unpleasant.

The most surprising thing about this situation, Castiel concluded, was that uncertainty unsettled him.

A few years ago his natural curiosity had sent him digging a bit too deeply for his superior’s tastes into certain orders. What he’d found was more than revolting and had led to his expulsion from the military. When he had returned stateside the first thing he did was announce to his conservative religious family that he was gay, because it’s easier to say ‘my family kicked me out for my sexuality’ than ‘my family kicked me out because I failed at my one task in life’.

So Castiel knew he was broken. A failure in every sense of the word. He’d found himself without a penny to his name and a helping of PTSD. Lived on the streets, met a very nice woman who got him a job at a Gas’n’Sip. Got fired for being too curious about the specifics of their taxes. 

Anna found him, his wayward sister who was a famous artist by then. Castiel took her help, her money, her therapist. Didn’t end up helping him, though, when he discovered, again through that damnable curiosity of his, that the only way to make the dreams stop was to pass out. Booze, drugs, the orgies were more of an accident. In the end, he’d overdosed, he couldn’t remember if on accident or on purpose. Both were plausible.

And on a night in September he finally saw his older brother again. Gabriel, who’d run away from home at 16, Gabriel who even Anna couldn’t track down. Gabriel who had a girlfriend and his own café and his life together and who had sat next to his hospital bed and said “Let’s go home, kiddo.”

After all of that, he had concluded that the best way not to ruin his current life was to suppress all curiosity. No more questions, no more caring about anything that wasn’t related to his life. Get up in the morning, shower, work at the café, read books, go to the library, politely but distantly greet neighbours. It had worked.

He hadn’t cared for the entire three years he had lived in his shoebox apartment five minutes’ walk from Gabriel’s house, ten minutes drive in his beat-up Lincoln Continental from the café.

Castiel had cared about Dean, but that was one moment, a mere blip in the past three years of not caring, an accident. He had learned to find not knowing comforting because it meant he wasn’t screwing anything up.

And now here he sat, finding the unknown unsettling.

**Dean**  
i don’t actually remember ur address

 **Cas**  
Are you in town?

I wasn’t sure you would show up as you haven’t answered your messages since last we spoke of this.

 **Dean**  
‘last we spoke’ jesus cas u’re adorable

i’m at the café makin fun of missouri

she’s about to bite my head off tho

and yeah sorry for not answering my phone got smashed by a vetala

was a bitch to get this number back

 **Cas**  
In that case maybe you should write down my number somewhere.

 **Dean**  
that’s exactly what sammy said

but i did you one better

i memorized the thing

anyway i didn’t know what time ‘dinner’ is for u hope im not too early

 **Cas**  
I’m on my way to pick you up.

Dean, damn him, looked even more attractive than Castiel remembered.  
He was sitting at a table with Missouri, drinking coffee and eating pie.

His face lit up when he spotted Castiel, and there was nothing he could do to hide his answering smile.

“God, it’s so nice to see you again, dude. My imagination’s not nearly as good,” Dean winked flirtatiously and gave him an obvious once-over. Missouri rolled her eyes and got up to ring up a customer.

Castiel, who was firmly asexual and would never have the one-night stand Dean was clearly angling for, should probably inform him of this. But he liked the flirting, liked having Dean pay attention to him. And who knew if Dean would bother with his friendship if he knew Castiel would never give him what he wanted? Damn it, already his brief moment of curiosity with Dean had put him in a position where he’d likely be rejected at some point. As if he had needed any more hurt piled onto him.

“Dude, you alright?,” Dean asked, and Castiel noticed that he’d been standing and staring at Dean, lost in thought.

Blushing, he answered, “Yes. Yes, I am fine. It’s nice to see you again as well, Dean.”

Dean gave a playful groan. “Oh god, not with the whiskey sex voice this early, Cas.”

He frowned. “I ... apologize? This is just my regular voice.”

Dean laughed and gestured at the table. “Why don’t you sit down, have some of this pie and tell me how your boyfriend-for-the-day can please you.”


End file.
